candor
by rinkaku
Summary: "... he gives a final squeeze at Kuramochi's ass right when Kuramochi's turned to open his room door and is positively ecstatic (with his usual grin in tow) when Sawamura howls in offense in reaction to catching sight of them under the doorway. Miyuki thinks that if Kuramochi planned on murdering him after his bath, he'd had a good enough high school career."


**tags: **established relationship, kissing, mutual masturbation, frottage

**a/n:** written to detract the lack of kuramiyu (porn) fic

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><p>The mussed hairs on the back of Kuramochi's neck stand up while he's crouched over Sawamura, experimenting his new angle of a chokehold on him. He briefly glances around their vicinity, unsure of what would have elicited such a reaction but chalks it up to overreaction when he finds nothing amiss among his humored teammates. He misses the baleful look shot his way from across the field, sharp eyes cutting into the messy wrinkles and tight lines of his muddied practice uniform. Miyuki pushes the frame of his glasses up his nose, keeps his distance for a little longer, unrepentantly feigning amusement at whatever joke some of the other Seidou regulars have made, smile bright and wide and calculating.<p>

Eventually, the boys group together as they file out, headed to their rooms to retrieve their shower supplies or continue practicing elsewhere. Kuramochi momentarily lets up on wrestling Sawamura in favor of swinging an arm around his shoulder, who had slowly been pushed towards Kuramochi by a fox-grinning Ryousuke. Miyuki has to stop himself from shooting a curious look at Ryousuke, who merely grins a little wider while Miyuki silently trots alongside the laughing Kuramochi-Sawamura duo. He realizes there must be an almost indignant undertone in the grin he wears when Kuramochi bodily leans towards Sawamura, cackling brightly in his Kuramochi manner all-the-while Ryousuke makes another joke of how red the unfortunate first-year between them has become. Miyuki tightens his grip on his slung-over practice jersey, lips upturned sharply in response to the crowding laughter around him and restrains himself from walking away until it's only just him, Kuramochi, and a dozed-off Furuya reclining against a disgruntled Sawamura left.

His fingers flex tersely away from the fabric of his uniform, joints slightly sore from how hard he'd had them bent, sparing a glance down at them before reaching that same left hand of his out. Kuramochi's hand twitches minutely when Miyuki wraps his digits around his pinky, grip weak enough that if Kuramochi wanted to, he could easily slip out. Except he doesn't; Kuramochi brings his hand down into the half-open space of Miyuki's hand, fingers locking with Miyuki's as if it were as natural as the sun setting into the horizon.

Miyuki hesitates at the action, not at all having expected it and looks up past Kuramochi to see if Sawamura or Furuya have noticed, but both first-years are expectedly busy bickering with one another. He tilts his head back to look at Kuramochi with the intent of asking _Why?_, however, Kuramochi catches Miyuki before he can say anything, a wolfish smirk playing on his expression that exposes the tips of his sharp canines and playful peeking tip of his tongue. A slow burn starting from the base of Miyuki's skull caresses its way down his spine, desire comfortably settling itself in his groin and singing in his blood, like warm, fresh honey dripping off a spoon.

Kuramochi halts in his tracks and subsequently stops Miyuki as well, also enlightening Sawamura and Furuya with the fact that they've just arrived in front of their dorm. A humored cackle finds its way out of Kuramochi when he shoves Sawamura inside, an aggrieved squawk of "What was that for?!" reaching their ears just as Kuramochi shuts the door behind him. When he turns around, Furuya's already begun his sluggish attempt to walk back to his own dorm, giving the impression of sleep-walking as opposed to being anywhere near conscious when he nearly bumps into someone else along the way.

Looking down at their still joined hands, Miyuki leans forward, letting his other hand curl limply around the defined hollow of Kuramochi's hip. Kuramochi snorts against the top of his shoulder, resting part of his cheek and chin there, facing an uncharacteristically bashful Miyuki.

"I never noticed how much you and Sawamura… _interact_ together." Miyuki tries calmly stating, face turned down briefly to stare at his hand curved around Kuramochi's back. "You would make a cute couple."

At this, Kuramochi really does laugh uninhibitedly, throwing his head back so he can properly exhale his cackles out into the air and not Miyuki's shoulder.

"What the hell." Kuramochi replies entirely bemused, pulling away from Miyuki's half-embrace to spot the amused upturn of the catcher's mouth. "You're such an idiot, you know that, right?"

Miyuki doesn't bother hiding his full-on grin, wholly smug and cheeky and delighted, Kuramochi wheezing against him slightly with his remaining laughter. His right hand hovers above the lower part of Kuramochi's spine before Miyuki throws whatever caution he had to the wind and sneaks it onto the left side of Kuramochi's ass, cupping his fingers underneath the fleshier part while his thumb hooks into the back pocket of Kuramochi's uniform pants. His grin is pure elation now that Kuramochi's previous laughter has pattered off and instead is leaning back against Miyuki's hand, turning his head to intently watch him, brows slightly furrowed and mouth curiously rounded.

If no-one had ever told Kuramochi he had the most illegal case of naturally pouty lips, well, Miyuki had no qualms considering it his personal secret.

"Haha, thank you!" he quips into the crown of Kuramochi's hair. "Except if I'm an idiot, I can't imagine what that makes you, who's dating the idiot. A bigger idiot? Perhaps foolish."

Kuramochi chortles at the pseudo-seriousness of Miyuki's tone, eyes full of playfulness when he raps his knuckles against Miyuki's side.

"Maybe I am a little foolish, huh." he grins right back at Miyuki while his hand catches in the thick brown tresses framing Miyuki's face.

Miyuki's breath catches when Kuramochi gives a soft tug at his hair, eyelids fluttering shut and body reflexively pressing closer to the shortstop's. Kuramochi's grin turns sharper, wicked, tightens his grip a little more and it's all he needs for Miyuki to wrap both hands around his ass, exhalations shallow and ragged. The playful glint in Kuramochi's eyes turns deviant in seconds flat the moment Miyuki catches his sight, throat bobbing unconsciously when Kuramochi pulls his face closer to his, the light pink of his tongue swiping out immediately attracting Miyuki's attention.

Kuramochi takes half a step closer so he's pressed flush against Miyuki, breathing out a small laugh through his nose when Miyuki reacts to his proximity by tightening the grip he has on Kuramochi, expression a mix of serious and heated. Tilting the catcher's head down so they're as level as they can be, Kuramochi reaches up until their mouths are only centimeters apart. Miyuki remains silent save for a handful of heavy exhalations, wanting to press just that bit forward but also determined to wait for Kuramochi to do it.

The moment never comes, much to Miyuki's dismay; Kuramochi simply remains close, the bow of his lips pressing against the side of Miyuki's mouth for a second - two - before he's already pulled away, before Miyuki can really react.

"Keep your door unlocked," is all Kuramochi says, thumb of his free hand running against the opposite side of Miyuki's lips, giving a short tug at his hair before letting go. "Kazuya."

Hands softly wrap around Miyuki's wrists, insistent and nudging until he lets go of Kuramochi, and a faint part of Miyuki muses the fact that he must probably look ridiculous at that moment. Not that it really matters to him, true or not; he gives a final squeeze at Kuramochi's ass right when Kuramochi's turned to open his room door and is positively ecstatic (with his usual grin in tow) when Sawamura howls in offense in reaction to catching sight of them under the doorway.

Miyuki thinks that if Kuramochi planned on murdering him after his bath, he'd had a good enough high school career.

* * *

><p>There was a deep unfortunance to the fact that Kuramochi had still decided to spend the night with Miyuki, and it was that aside from tossing a bottle of Pocari at him once he'd entered the room, Kuramochi had paid Miyuki zero attention.<p>

He'd arrived with a towel hung around his shoulders to catch the stray droplets of his hair, sans its usual style and instead matted down in its current state of dampness. Kuramochi had apparently found it useless to bring anything more than he'd really be needing: wearing his usual pair of sweats and a sleeveless tanktop, Miyuki had quietly raised a brow at the 3DS he had in hand, but otherwise kept quiet as he retreated back to his desk. He regretted not having said anything about it, or even for having feigned nonchalance, because Kuramochi was presumably knee-deep in his game. The only viable signs Kuramochi would give that he was actually alive from beneath his tangled swathe of Miyuki's bedsheets were his occasional dissatisfied grunts or winning cackles.

Resting the edge of his chin against his upturned palm, Miyuki tried (with an effort he felt shouldn't even be necessary) to ignore the exposed plane of Kuramochi's stomach, shirt having raised at some point when he entered the bed. Chewing mindlessly at the edge of his pinky nail, Miyuki attempted for what felt like the fiftieth time to refocus on the data Chris had shared with him earlier, succeeding only a little when his eyes caught on the row of batting averages. His endeavor is quickly nipped in the bud when he catches Kuramochi sitting up for a moment, setting his 3DS aside while he scoots toward the edge of Miyuki's bed, and absolutely nothing could prepare Miyuki for Kuramochi suddenly stripping off his sweats.

Noticing Miyuki now undeniably watching him, Kuramochi quirks both eyebrows at him, not really smiling but not really frowning - curious - as he slides his feet out of the leg-holes of his pants.

"Shouldn't you be making up a play right now?" he inquires, an impishness in his tone of voice and in the way he stands to toss his pants into Miyuki's lap.

Miyuki flinches, the reaction faint but not unseen by Kuramochi, and Miyuki almost pays no mind to what he's said the moment he recognizes the light pink trim adorning Kuramochi's boxer-briefs.

"Not that I'm complaining about it," Miyuki starts, clearing his throat a little when he hears the small crack in his voice that has Kuramochi grinning. "but is there any particular reason you got rid of these here?" He pulls up the small wad of fabric from his lap, deliberate in keeping it out of reach when Kuramochi grasps for it.

"Your room's hot as balls, it's like a million degrees outside and I just took a shower." Kuramochi rolls his eyes when Miyuki obviously stares down at his legs, eyes particular in remaining crotch-level. "My dick isn't going to talk to you, I hope you know that."

Miyuki doesn't fight against the sudden chuckle that leaves him at that, looking back up at Kuramochi to find that the shortstop is bemusedly snorting his way as well.

"How can you be completely sure." Miyuki retorts easily, tapping the pencil he's holding against the edge of his desk in his amusement. "It's done some amazing things with me before, right? Sentience is possible."

Kuramochi has to hold a hand against his side so he doesn't burst into a fit of cackles, instead turning towards Miyuki's bed and slipping in, gaze already focused on his DS back in hand.

"Uh-huh, you just keep doing your work, Kazuya." Kuramochi belatedly replies, an air of finality in his voice, enraptured in his video game once again.

Head turned down to the cotton fabric still in hand, Miyuki sucks part of the inside of his cheek between his teeth, contemplative. While he would like nothing more than to do just that (his work), he's also been waiting for this all day; to have Kuramochi, just the two of them alone together, the sentiment having despairingly increased during and after practice. Bringing the pair of sweats up to his desk after having closed his playbook, Miyuki scoots his chair back, pausing when the scratch of wood against the floor is a few decibels louder than he'd anticipated. Kuramochi doesn't notice, or at least does a good job of pretending not to, and so Miyuki divests himself of the bandana he'd put on to keep his fringe away before slowly sitting on the edge of his bed. Again, Kuramochi doesn't react; is still very much invested in whatever spiel the anti-hero in his game has to say, only moving his sprawled knee towards himself to make room.

Pressing a hand down against the mattress, Miyuki leans forward, taking advantage of the lack of awareness Kuramochi has so he can maneuver himself on top of him, legs finding purchase in the space between and around the shortstop's bare ones; forearms resting beside his head, respectively. The tougher part of worming his way into this position is Miyuki trying to duck his head underneath Kuramochi's arms that are resting against his chest. He really only manages to nudge the top of his head against Kuramochi's wrists until Kuramochi complies, raising his arms long enough for Miyuki to squeeze through.

Once settled, Miyuki leans in close, nose pressed against the breadth of Kuramochi's jawline, inhaling the unique scent he finds between his chin and under-ear. Kuramochi pays him no mind, is more than a little preoccupied with defeating a boss and tactfully mashing away at the action buttons. Miyuki huffs minutely, unconsciously, feels the slither of an emotion best left nameless sink deeper into the pit of his stomach.

"Youichi." he casually starts, cutting off some of his dignity in order to nuzzle his face against Kuramochi's collar.

Kuramochi grunts in response, raising his arms up away from Miyuki who has taken to embracing him. Holding his DS inches from his face, Kuramochi doesn't see the annoyed look Miyuki bears. Miyuki is seconds from pulling away, regret and humiliation (and rejection) diluting his initial sentiments of desiring affection - attention, from the one boy that gives it to him unconditionally - until Kuramochi heaves a relenting sigh.

"What gives, Kazuya?" Kuramochi finally responds, left hand busy tucking his game console away. His right hand bends at the elbow beside him, allowing Kuramochi to curiously peer down at his partner. "You've been weirder than usual."

Miyuki acknowledges that he has two options: one is to fake nonchalance and laugh the ordeal off, staking claim that he was simply interested in seeing how Kuramochi would react. This, Kuramochi would most likely be expecting, and so Miyuki swallows another glassful of pride in exchange for option two; pressing himself closer to the shortstop beneath him, twining a hand into shower-dampened hair.

"Say it again." he breathes softly against the warm skin of Kuramochi's clavicle, lips lingering against the sharp jut of bone there.

"… Kazuya." Kuramochi repeats, for once merciful and delightedly so when Miyuki shakily exhales against his neck, parts of unspoken words caught in his throat.

They remain motionless like that; still and patient, Miyuki's body gradually losing its stiffness against Kuramochi's. Kuramochi grins, a small chime of laughter leaving him as he lies back down against the bed, wrapping his arms behind Miyuki's head and clutching gently at the fabric of his nightshirt. Miyuki visibly twitches at the sound of his laugh, spending a few more seconds to appreciate the skin of Kuramochi's collar before looking up at him, eyes twinkling with intrigue.

"This seriously isn't over the thing with Sawamura earlier, is it." Kuramochi bemusedly inquires, watches Miyuki shift faintly in his embrace until his face is tucked half against his shoulder and neck, and half against the pillow beneath.

"Of course not." he replies back easily but the minor petulance in his tone doesn't go unnoticed by Kuramochi, eliciting a wider stretch to his already playful grin.

The more logical part of Kuramochi's brain has him acknowledge that this is possibly one of the closest times he'll ever get to experiencing a jealous Miyuki, much less a jealous Miyuki willing to _accept_ and in his own way, confide the sentiment with him. The more playful (and deviant) side, however, urges him on to drag out such a blue-moon opportunity.

"You're unbelievable; Sawamura is just… Sawamura." Another twinkle of laughter catches on Kuramochi's voice and the slight twitch of Miyuki's mouth against his neck makes him snort into the tips of his hair. "Although you did say we looked good together, and I'd be lying if I said I never looked at him, or him at me -"

"_Stop_." Miyuki discontentedly groans into the tufts of Kuramochi's drying hair, the beginnings of a frown playing on his features, leveling a sullen look at a cackling Kuramochi. "I feel as though people forget just how awful you can be, on purpose." Miyuki churlishly retorts in response to Kuramochi's obvious amusement, knees bending beside Kuramochi's upper thighs and palms lying flat on each side of his face, lifting himself so he can properly face Kuramochi from above.

Bringing a hand up to to cup at the right side of Miyuki's jaw, Kuramochi runs his thumb down his cheek until it catches in the space between his teeth and lower lip. He's almost apologetic for the action until Miyuki slightly parts his mouth, the tip of his finger easily sliding in to the first knuckle and Kuramochi immediately darts his sight up at Miyuki, a heated look akin to the one he wore earlier lighting his eyes.

"Well, with an asshole of a boyfriend like you," Kuramochi slowly replies, words sticking to his throat like tar when Miyuki opens his mouth a little more, accepting his entire thumb inside. "I think it's hard to remember." He breathes huskily, fully enraptured at how hot Miyuki's mouth is; how smooth the skin of his inner cheek is beneath the pad of his finger and how pliant Miyuki's tongue is, suckling against his finger.

Miyuki simply makes a noncommittal sound, shifting his weight so he's now straddling Kuramochi, the front of his sweatpants pressing obscenely against the soft warmth of Kuramochi's underwear. He loosely wraps a hand around Kuramochi's wrist, partially encouraging the shortstop's venture of his mouth and likewise using the other boy to support himself up. It's only when Kuramochi is thumbing the tops of Miyuki's molars that he brings himself to a stop, slowly dragging his finger back out of his mouth and resting it against Miyuki's lip. A small line of drool cascades off his thumb and halfway down Miyuki's chin, his quiet but heavy breaths against Kuramochi's hand emphasizing the spit-slick skin of his thumb.

Kuramochi stares intently at the glistening wetness of Miyuki's mouth, hesitating for a moment when Miyuki doesn't react to when he inclines his face down towards his, so close that their breaths intermingle with each inhale and exhale. He quells whatever doubt that had reared its head, however, when he catches sight of the exhilaration ebbing its way onto Miyuki's expression at their proximity, curiously eyeing the pink flush adorning his cheeks. It's difficult for Kuramochi to ignore the expectant look Miyuki is giving him, mouth still slightly open, and it's as much of an invitation he requires so he can tangle his left hand into Miyuki's hair and press their lips together, both of them sighing in relief at the long-awaited contact.

For all the patience Miyuki and Kuramochi are not exactly known to have, their kiss is initially slow and languid; Kuramochi tilts his head up and to the left, groaning a little when Miyuki presses himself impossibly closer to fit as close to perfect as he can. There's a certain comfort to how Miyuki slides his lips in the same relaxed manner as Kuramochi does, angles himself so there's nothing either boy can do but breathe raspily through their noses while remaining lip-locked. Briefly, Miyuki sucks the bottom of Kuramochi's lip into his mouth, the movement fluid and delicate in its own right that Kuramochi hardly notices until he feels a familiar pull of teeth and mouth against it and he doesn't hide the groan that escapes him.

The encouraging pull of his hair leaves Miyuki reeling for a few seconds, lets Kuramochi's lower lip go to instead hover over it, open-mouthed and pliant. Kuramochi tactfully takes the opportunity and tugs at the flat locks of Miyuki's hair, _hard_, swallowing the other half of a delighted moan Miyuki had shakily let out as he roughly kisses him again. He's all teeth and bruising bites, wrapping his free arm around the back Miyuki's neck to anchor him there. Kuramochi is positively thrilled when he feels Miyuki lower himself onto his forearms and unabashedly sneak his hands up Kuramochi's shirt along the way. Although there's generally a careful meticulousness in everything Miyuki does (something Kuramochi is certain to mock him for), there's absolutely no structure in how Miyuki caresses the well-toned planes of Kuramochi's upper abdomen and chest, teasing and playful.

Digging his upper teeth into the soft flesh of Miyuki's lip, Kuramochi relents as they both pull away from the kiss, breaths heavy and reaching labored, a light flush coloring both of their faces. Softly, Miyuki drags his hands out of the warm purchase of Kuramochi's shirt, gives a couple fleeting lingering touches that has Kuramochi unconsciously arching up against him to keep the contact. Careful in his movements, slightly hyper-aware of the curious yet smoldering look Kuramochi is giving him, Miyuki adjusts his limbs so he's in a different posture from before. Knees bent and shins pressed against the mattress, Miyuki deliberately parts Kuramochi's legs until they're splayed up and around his waist, biting down a breath when he spots the welcoming bulge tenting the front of Kuramochi's carnation pink underwear.

Miyuki hears as much as he feels Kuramochi's breath catch when he tucks his legs against the backs of Kuramochi's thighs, looks up to catch the shortstop's sight and licks his tongue over the undoubtedly bruised areas of his lips, internally grinning at how Kuramochi unknowingly copies the motion.

Focusing his attention back on Kuramochi's compliant legs, warm hands slowly traverse the smooth expanse of nude skin Kuramochi's underwear offers; they rove up carefully from his slim ankles to the pronounced muscles of his calves. Miyuki leans forward a bit and plants a kiss right on Kuramochi's sternum when his hands reach his knees, caressing the supple skin at the bend before continuing his path up. They share a shaky breath when Miyuki's hands stop at Kuramochi's thighs, tanned fingers spread out entirely, splayed along the curve of them, admiring the fullness and muscle only Kuramochi seems to be endowed with. Miyuki's hands remain there for awhile, skirting up occasionally to tease at the leg of Kuramochi's underwear, before smoothing back down to the fuller part of his thighs, mouth hovering a hairsbreadth away from Kuramochi's.

It's as good a game of cat and mouse, Kuramochi thinks to himself as he takes the bait, not really kissing Miyuki but still ghosting parted lips against his. Miyuki growls a little then, not loud and bold like Kuramochi usually would when he has Miyuki turned over on his knees and begging. The sound is a lot breathier, smaller - deploring, in its own right - and loses itself entirely when Miyuki gives in to the proximity Kuramochi offers. He presses his mouth against Kuramochi's, a rippling exhalation Kuramochi can feel heave from Miyuki's chest against his, hot air fanning against his upper lip.

This time, the kiss is a lot more quick-paced; there's a quiet desperation in how Miyuki pecks all along the width of Kuramochi's mouth, tongue sliding out to tease at his lips but never breaching through. Looping his arms over Miyuki's shoulders and clasping his hands loosely together under the collar of his shirt, Kuramochi sighs contentedly against the other boy when he feels Miyuki buck up against him. Miyuki's hands are still holding onto the upper part of Kuramochi's thighs, thumbs sneaking under the lower elastic bands of his underwear while he kneels closer, taking the chance to rut himself against Kuramochi's growing erection again, pleased at how Kuramochi presses down in response.

Whatever patience he'd felt earlier is completely lost now that Miyuki has actually started touching him, and with his newfound resolve, Kuramochi wraps his legs skillfully around Miyuki's waist. He waits while Miyuki adjusts himself into a more comfortable position, resting most of his weight along Kuramochi's body as he continues kissing him with a stronger ardor. If he hadn't been before, Kuramochi is now made fully aware of Miyuki's erection, pressed partly between the cleft of his ass and against his own, every sway or twitch of either of them eliciting a pleasured grunt.

The touches are still too brief for either of their liking, however, and it's Kuramochi who ameliorates this first.

Sneaking a hand out from under the back of Miyuki's shirt, Kuramochi momentarily ghosts his fingertips along the well-defined tendons of one of Miyuki's arms, playfully skirting his hand down, down until he reaches the front of the other boy's sweatpants. His action doesn't go unnoticed by Miyuki, who has finally parted from their lung-searing kiss to stare heatedly down at Kuramochi, glasses skewed and eyelids hooded in his lust. Kuramochi takes his time, trailing his hand along the toned muscles of his abdomen, partially giggling when Miyuki's grip against his thigh staggers before clenching tighter, expectant. Leaning up, craning his neck away from the damp pillow beneath, Kuramochi breathes hotly against his ear, gives the cartilage a nip and a tug with his teeth when he finally reaches into Miyuki's sweatpants, lightly cupping the damp bulge trapped inside his underwear with his hand.

"Youichi," Miyuki groans as Kuramochi's left hand finds purchase in his hair, tugs brusquely at the thicker bunch of locks in the middle while his other hand works against his erection. "_Youichi_."

Kuramochi grins a little, equal parts amused and exhilarated at Miyuki's response.

He takes pity on Miyuki, licking a stripe down from his jaw to his nape, focuses momentarily to bite at the pronounced vein there. Kuramochi grins against his skin when he literally feels his pulse spike under his teeth, soothing the blooming mark with his tongue. Miyuki bucks up into Kuramochi's hand without reserve, hides his burning face against the other boy's forehead, mouth parted. His hand is far from shy, and Kuramochi deftly rubs his thumb over where he wagers must be the crown of Miyuki's penis through the fabric.

It was a spot-on calculation, Kuramochi cockily assures himself as Miyuki is quick to pull him back into yet another heated kiss, bruising and demanding, devours the sigh that escapes Kuramochi when he slips a hand away from one of his thighs and onto his own erection. The yearning is mutual; Kuramochi unapologetically yanking at Miyuki's hair once again until Miyuki breaks from the kiss to moan against his lips, allows Kuramochi the liberty to lean up into him once more and sneak his tongue into his mouth. Miyuki thrusts up into Kuramochi's hand before pressing down, both of them sharply inhaling when his movement causes their dicks to press together, fleetingly.

Drawing his nimble tongue around Miyuki's, Kuramochi is fierce in how he maps the inside of the other boy's mouth, a faint sense of familiarity niggling his mind but a stronger sense of desire and possession, almost, closer on the spectrum to affection slinking its way through his senses. Neither of their hands relent in their movements, clumsy and hastened and shaking as they press their bodies closer together, breaths increasingly rapid and shallow with every swipe of Kuramochi's tongue.

Miyuki was perfectly content getting off like this - truly, he was - but something about the way Kuramochi hungrily sucked his tongue into his mouth, the way his hand twisted so his fingers upwardly rubbed against the wet fabric of his erection did him in.

Quickly, Miyuki tears both his hand and mouth away from Kuramochi, sparing a moment to take in the debauched scene before him: his lips, red and parted, eyelids hooded but pupils keenly watching his every movement, Kuramochi's boxer-briefs rolled up from how roughly he'd continued to grip his thighs. Miyuki's sure he must look the same if not worse (there was a certain satisfied soreness he identified being his mouth, undeniably swollen by now) and he physically felt his face heat up a darker red when Kuramochi let go of his hair, a softer look on his face ebbing away part of his previous edge.

"Kazuya?" he croaks out, not entirely hesitant but still minorly apprehensive, his other hand that had still been in his sweatpants now resting against the jut of Miyuki's hip. "What is it?"

Shaking his head to the side slowly, Miyuki is reluctant in pulling himself away from the wonderful incandescent warmth of Kuramochi's body, not breaking eye contact with the shortstop until he divests himself of his night-shirt. It's only then that Kuramochi seems to understand what he was doing, and brings his left hand to rest on the other side of Miyuki's hip, tugging on the elastic band of his pants and underwear once, in question. Miyuki snorts a little at the action but it's good-hearted, if anything to stay the bubbling heat that's already begun pooling in his lower belly once again, and shifts his hips up and then forward so Kuramochi can pull them down. They only manage to go down to a quarter before the bend of his knees, his erection pressing hotly against his abdomen, but it's not something Miyuki entirely notices because the action has readily rendered him shy, the unwavering gaze of devotion Kuramochi is admiring him with causing butterflies to circumvent his previous confidence.

His sudden reticence is promptly placated by Kuramochi, however; Kuramochi nudges Miyuki's hands down towards the hem of his own shirt, an unusually small smile on his face as he looks up at Miyuki, patient. The sudden bashfulness that had overcome him is rapidly dissipated as he coaxes Kuramochi's shirt up his stomach and off entirely, tossing it to the floor without a second thought. Briefly, he appreciates the newfound bare skin of Kuramochi's torso; fingers idly tracing up and down from his navel to his nipples, gives a playful pinch at them both before smoothing them over with the pads of his thumbs, delighted at how Kuramochi hitches his breath. When Miyuki leans back down, abruptly pressing a kiss to Kuramochi's nose, he doesn't need Kuramochi to guide his hands to the elastic waist of his underwear this time. He takes a moment to rub his palms reverently over the bones of Kuramochi's hips, steals a glance up at him and the tide of sheer want that had settled at the base of Miyuki's spine comes back in full force over how expectant Kuramochi is in his expression.

Miyuki hooks his fingers into his underwear, presses another kiss this time to the top of Kuramochi's cheek as he pulls the offending piece of clothing down, can nearly feel his mouth salivate (and rightfully so) when he gets it past mid-thigh, Kuramochi's penis bobbing, almost, at the action. He can tell there's a joke Kuramochi wants to crack, can literally see it trying to work its way out of his throat and so Miyuki halts him the one way he knows how; dragging the pink boxer-briefs the rest of the way down his legs until it slips off his left foot, Miyuki then wraps his right hand around the soft, fleshy red of Kuramochi's arousal, effectively distracting Kuramochi from any other thought. Kuramochi stills beneath him, eyelids pressed closed and breath gone shallow again, prompting Miyuki to take a firmer grip than before and moves his hand up down and then up, once. There's an unspeakable sort of elation Miyuki feels ripple through him like a tide of hot steam when Kuramochi's legs twitch around him at the touch, can feel his toes curl by his shins.

"Hold on a sec." Miyuki quietly whispers, doesn't pause to see if Kuramochi has actually heard him while he adjusts himself a final time, clambering on top of the shortstop, splays Kuramochi's legs open so he can properly wind them around his waist.

Miyuki heaves an exhalation out when Kuramochi crosses his feet by the ankle and hauls him forward, a high-pitched whine spilling from his mouth when the movement causes their erections to press together, hot and branding against the flushed space between their hips. Resting his forehead against Kuramochi's, Miyuki mouths sultry breaths against the other boy's, half-turns into the soft touch of Kuramochi slipping his glasses off and placing them out of arm's reach. Kuramochi angles his hips up off the mattress, loosely hangs his arms around Miyuki's neck and Miyuki complies, wrapping his own arms around Kuramochi's lower waist and resting them just at his tailbone. Kuramochi trails a series of kisses along his cheek, laughs quietly at how Miyuki's eyelashes flutter and his face turns a rosy tint, unrelenting only until Miyuki thrusts up, keens against the press of Kuramochi's inviting mouth.

Angling his hips so their dicks are more closely aligned, Kuramochi tilts his head back right as Miyuki thrusts against him again, the motion more powerful and fulfilling this time, the slick slide of them pressed together tearing a pleasured groan from Kuramochi. Miyuki nuzzles his face against his throat, licks at the rivulets of sweat pooling at the dip of his collar, hiding his own moans when Kuramochi moves against him. His entire body bucks down, however, when Kuramochi slips a hand to their erections, wraps his warm fingers around the tips and pumps his hand until they're coated in precum. Miyuki is practically fucking himself into the searing heat of Kuramochi, who is so busy bucking in an even rhythm against Miyuki to really care; hand tightening its hold he swipes out his thumb, smearing the pearly liquid gushing out against the underside. Kuramochi growls, voice taut and sharp when Miyuki wraps a hand around his own, starts jerking them off at a quicker pace, Kuramochi thrusting forcefully against the sweaty hollow of Miyuki's hip.

The hot drag of their arousals forces Miyuki to press his mouth tighter to the under-ear of Kuramochi, only partially muffling his mantra of _ah ah ah_ when Kuramochi shifts his hips so they're pressed flush together, rocking so impossibly close. Miyuki chokes on an intake of air when Kuramochi tightens his grip, can feel his legs trembling from the effort with Kuramochi rubbing against him more insistently, his own hand gone limp in the tight space between them. Faintly, he recognizes the broken sob of _Youichi_ cutting through the even louder sounds of them rutting against one another and bed creaking as his own, but is far too busy trying to hold onto Kuramochi for dear life to really care. Kuramochi quickens the pace of his hand, easily accepts the pressing weight of Miyuki frantically humping him into the mattress, pressing the tips of their erections together with the curve of his palm on every narrow upstroke. He knows Miyuki won't last any longer, can tell by the familiar grip Miyuki has along his waist and back that will certainly leave half-crescent indents for the next week.

Turning his own face to the side into Miyuki's hair, Kuramochi lifts his hips just as Miyuki moves his hands to grip him on both sides and drives into him, earnestly. The sudden momentum knocks the wind out of both of them but they are far too close to care, Kuramochi can almost taste it on his tongue with every intermingled shout and groan they wring from each other. Kuramochi tries meeting every upward thrust Miyuki gives but focuses more on the pulsing flesh in his hand. He pumps his hand as fast as the space between them allows, feels his own toes curl along Miyuki's lower back but doesn't stop just as Miyuki doesn't, not even when he feels Miyuki half-scream and half-sob into the skin at his neck. Kuramochi's hand slows to stuttered, languid rhythm the moment he feels his orgasm tide over, his own shout of Miyuki's name breaking into a slivered cry. Miyuki continues rocking them through their peak, voice quivering while Kuramochi strokes the both of them as they cum onto their stomachs and chest.

Weakly, Miyuki slumps down into the half-embrace Kuramochi already has on him, ignores the warm stickiness pooling between their thighs and catching on their torsos. Kuramochi slowly uncrosses his ankles and slides his legs off Miyuki, both of their breaths catching at the gentle glide of their softened arousals. He lazily tangles their legs together, Miyuki shifting to press his face into the line of Kuramochi's jaw with a contented sigh.

"Tell me honestly: do you think Sawamura would have done better?" is the sudden quip Miyuki pseudo seriously inquires.

Groaning discontentedly into the crown of his hair, not even the playful twinkle in Miyuki's eyes is enough to stop Kuramochi from punching him squarely in his side.

* * *

><p>If Miyuki wakes up minutes before Kuramochi does in the morning just so he can take photos of his sleeping face to use as his screensaver later, he keeps it a secret.<p> 


End file.
